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<h1><a href="https://archiveofourown.org/works/29321781">carotenoid</a> by <a class='authorlink' href='https://archiveofourown.org/users/NowImJustSomebodyThat/pseuds/Aurelie'>Aurelie (NowImJustSomebodyThat)</a></h1>

<table class="full">

<tr><td><b>Category:</b></td><td>Critical Role (Web Series)</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Genre:</b></td><td>Canon-Typical Violence, Death from Old Age, F/F, F/M, Marriage Proposal, Non-Linear Narrative, Resurrection, Semi-Public Sex, Team as Family, Temporary Character Death, Weddings, canon-typical creepiness</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Language:</b></td><td>English</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Status:</b></td><td>Completed</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Published:</b></td><td>2021-02-10</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Updated:</b></td><td>2021-02-10</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Packaged:</b></td><td>2021-05-13 10:07:47</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Rating:</b></td><td>Mature</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Warnings:</b></td><td>Major Character Death, No Archive Warnings Apply</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Chapters:</b></td><td>1</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Words:</b></td><td>13,536</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Publisher:</b></td><td>archiveofourown.org</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Story URL:</b></td><td>https://archiveofourown.org/works/29321781</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Author URL:</b></td><td>https://archiveofourown.org/users/NowImJustSomebodyThat/pseuds/Aurelie</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Summary:</b></td><td><div class="userstuff">
              <p>n. any of a class of mainly yellow, orange, or red fat-soluble pigments, including carotene, which give colour to plant parts such as ripe tomatoes and autumn leaves, and the animals that consume them</p><p>Yasha’s wings don’t stay white for long<br/>(a history in colours)</p>
            </div></td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Relationships:</b></td><td>Beauregard Lionett/Yasha, Fjord/Jester Lavorre, Yasha/Zuala (Critical Role) (Past)</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Comments:</b></td><td>12</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Kudos:</b></td><td>117</td></tr>

</table>

<a name="section0001"><h2>carotenoid</h2></a>
<div class="story"><div class="fff_chapter_notes fff_head_notes"><b>Author's Note:</b><blockquote class="userstuff">
      <p>yasha: gets wings<br/>me: i can work with that</p><p>A great big thank you to my two beta readers, beauregret and dottoraqn for their HUGE help in getting this bad boy off the ground.</p><p>The 'Major Character Death' warning is because, at the end of this piece, Yasha dies from old age at a respectable 160. There are other temporary deaths, but none are permanent save for ones due to old age.</p>
    </blockquote></div><div class="userstuff module">
    
    <p> </p><p> </p><p>AMBER</p><p>“You’re gon- you’re gon- you <em> have </em> to teach me!” Luc says, bouncing up and down. “You have to teach me how to fly, Aunt Yasha!”</p><p> </p><p>“I don’t think it’s something she can teach, buddy.” Yeza says from the porch, watching the two of them in the backyard.</p><p> </p><p>“Aw.” He says, pouting. “Aunt Yasha, why?” </p><p> </p><p>The awful answer about being brainwashed and widowed and kidnapped gets smushed down with the urge to make him keep smiling. “Gotta grow them first, buddy. But what I <em> can </em> do, if your dad lets me, is hold you while I fly, okay?”</p><p> </p><p>“Dad! Can Aunt Yasha take me flying? I’ll be super good, I promise!”</p><p> </p><p>Yeza looks terribly concerned. Veth clearly thinks this is a great idea, because she bursts out of the back door with a big grin. “You can take him, Yasha! Just don’t drop him.”</p><p> </p><p>Yasha scoops up a cheering Luc. “I won’t!” He clambers onto her back, tucking his feet into her armour straps and clinging to her neck. “Now, Aunt Yasha, now!”</p><p> </p><p>Her wings emerge with the distinct <em> fwoomph </em>, and Luc squeals as the feathers rise into the air, the longer feathers tickling his nose. “You ready?”</p><p> </p><p>“Yes, yes, yes yes yes yes!”</p><p> </p><p>She bends her knees, and leaps. He laughs as her hands grab his own, wings flapping with no effort, the two of them floating above the house with all the grace of a bird that’s almost figured out flight. Yasha knows that Beau’s down there, watching, probably smiling, and she does a spin, wings spread wide in the sun, just in case Beau is looking up.</p><p> </p><p>“That’s my wife!” She hears, vaguely, like it was said in the next room, and the smile that forms on Yasha’s face lasts until she lands.</p><p> </p><p> </p><p>BRASS</p><p>The best thing about meeting Aarakocra is the wing armour. They’re visiting Vilya, because the ‘open tree policy’ doesn’t have an expiry date when the druids there are apparently as old as some Gods.</p><p> </p><p>The rest of the Nein are busy exploring this druid city in the clouds - Yasha is sure she can hear the sounds of small children being introduced to Fluffernutter - while she sits in a small armoury, a giant rainbow lorikeet measuring her shoulder blades. There’s no talking, no idle conversation while things are noted, while Yasha’s wings are unfurled to their furthest size. An unusual side-effect of Caduceus’ gift. When they get hit, they <em> hurt </em>. He was apologetic when he realised, but it’s not like Yasha cares. She can handle a few extra punches.</p><p> </p><p>The Aarakocra begins to assemble small pieces of metal, each piece fitting together like a puzzle, locking and bending and twisting into a pair of what look like oval hoops in polished brass, connected with a few bands of leather.</p><p> </p><p>“Put this on.” They say in an accent not unlike Jester’s, and Yasha slips on the odd contraption. “Lift up your wings.” Yasha complies, and the Aarakocra hums. “They fit good. I will tell your small inventor how to repair them if they are damaged. They will protect your back in case somebody tries to take your wing off.”</p><p> </p><p>Yasha squints. “But my wings are-”</p><p> </p><p>The Aarakockra flaps one hand. Wing. Arm. Hand, definitely a hand. “Corporeal enough. Now, do you want bread? My wife baked too much this morning and I want to get rid of it all before she freaks out.”</p><p> </p><p>Yasha takes a few loaves of rosemary and sesame bread, her wing guards, and the directions for a bookbinder. The weird feeling Yasha gets when she is loved by strangers ripples up her spine and threatens to make her cry. Instead, she smiles, thanks the blacksmith, and leaves.</p><p> </p><p> </p><p>COBALT </p><p>Beau’s arms tighten around her neck, and the absolute pounding of Yasha’s heart is drowned out by the soft <em> fwoomp fwoomp fwoomp </em> of her wings. She can fly. She can fly. She can fly, is currently flying, and Beau is holding tight to her neck after pulling off the most ridiculous stunt she’s ever seen. Yasha should be panicking, but she isn’t.</p><p> </p><p>It feels right to be like this. To be in the air, to feel a phantom weight against her back. </p><p> </p><p>Beau squeezes tighter. Yasha inhales, exhales, then soars. Out of the corner of her eye, she sees Jester throw out a big thumbs up.</p><p> </p><p>It is only later, when they’ve returned to the village and brought some level of calm, the Nein and Vilya - who has probably now been properly initiated - sprawled on the floor of Vilya’s home, that Yasha remembers the last time her heart pounded that hard.</p><p> </p><p>She had held a woman in her arms that time, too.</p><p> </p><p> </p><p>DRAKES-NECK</p><p>“You should let your wings out,” Beau says from her vanity, putting the last pin in her hair to complete the updo she had decided on doing for the ball. “Show them off.” Beau does not often dress like this, decorate herself in gems and makeup for the sole intent to dazzle, and Yasha is rarely there for the sort of social engagements that require all the pomp. Yasha can’t help but stare as Beau goes through the motions, correcting a few small flyaways with dexterous hands. She looks radiant, and Yasha would kiss her, but that would make them late.</p><p> </p><p>Yasha half-laughs, looking back to the last piece of clothing she needs to put on. “Yes, because the designer definitely thought that angel wings were the perfect pairing to a sparkly, fitted gown.” Technically, Jester might have, because she argued every detail with the poor dressmaker, down to the fine lightning bolt embroidery on the hems. She’s busy putting on a pair of slim pants under her dress, because you can only be surprised with surprise fighting so many times before you decide to just prep for the occasion.</p><p> </p><p>“I’m serious.” Yasha turns to actually meet Beau’s gaze. “Let them out. I mean- fuck, if you want, I’m just saying that I think you should, because it’s one of your traits, and we’ve talked about how we should show off the good parts of ourselves to remind us as to how far we’ve gone, and one of <em> my </em> best traits is, uh-” Beau stops when she realises that Yasha has made her way towards her, one battle-roughened hand on her bare shoulder.</p><p> </p><p>“Is me?” Yasha finishes, and Beau flushes. Yasha will never get over the fact that one of her feathers is that shade.</p><p> </p><p>“Yeah, you are. My god-slaying, storm-born, me-defending, winged girlfriend is one of my best traits, and I want to show every single member of that court exactly what they’re missing.” Beau stands, and Yasha lets her hand slide from Beau’s shoulder to her waist, pulling her close. “I also think it would be a huge power play to walk in with a giant sign that you’ve got a god looking out for you in a society that places an overemphasis on that sort of thing.”</p><p> </p><p>“I can make an impression, don’t worry,” Yasha replies, pressing the softest of kisses to her lips, careful not to smear any makeup.</p><p> </p><p>Yasha doesn’t let out the wings when they walk in, or when they sit and dine. When the music swells for dancing, Yasha offers her hand to Beau, who takes it as they walk through the crowded dance floor into the centre. She winks at a pre-prepared Caleb, pulls Beau close and whispers into her ear, “Hold on.”</p><p> </p><p>Caleb, in the corner, casts <em> Fly </em>.</p><p> </p><p>Beau yelps a laugh as she begins to lift off of the floor, and a second later Yasha unfurls her own wings. Beau’s eyes light up, and the rest of the room falls away as they complete a rather passable waltz floating twenty or so feet above the crowd.</p><p> </p><p>Beau presses her face into Yasha’s shoulder as they descend, Caleb's magic giving Beau all the support she needs to press a kiss to the part where her neck meets her shoulder. “You’re perfect. How did I end up deserving you?”</p><p> </p><p>Yasha lifts her chin. “It goes both ways,” she says, before pressing a very less chaste kiss to her lips. Beau’s eyes are wide when she pulls away, and Veth’s glance in their direction is all-knowing when the pair of them slip away from the celebrations.</p><p> </p><p> </p><p>EIGENGRAU</p><p>Beau is falling. No, <em> plummeting </em> , spinning faster and faster and out of control, hands flailing as she tries to reach for something to cling to, the wall of the tower they were trying to infiltrate or maybe a lamp post or a nearby bird or <em> something </em>.</p><p> </p><p>“Beau, I’m coming, I’m coming!” Yasha leaps out the window, wings unfurling with all the pomp the Stormlord has argued they require. Her wings immediately fall into position behind her back, and the thrill of being in controlled freefall is overrun by the fear that Yasha may not make it in time.</p><p> </p><p>“Yasha!”</p><p> </p><p>Yasha extends one hand. “I’m coming, Beau! Just a little closer!” But it’s not a little closer she needs, it's a lot closer, Yasha is so far behind that she’s trying to outrun gravity at this point, and she can hear the screams from everyone else as they realise the same thing she does.</p><p> </p><p>Beau’s crying, because she’s always been smart even before the circlet and she <em> knows </em>.</p><p> </p><p>She knows.</p><p> </p><p>Beau hits the ground with a sickening crunch. Yasha howls.</p><p> </p><p> </p><p>FULVOUS </p><p>“You want me to-”</p><p> </p><p>“Join me, yes,” Caleb says, face calm but eyes bright. “I think you would like it. Up there. With someone else to join you. I could fly you really high up, and then you can let your wings out, and you’ll be so high and won’t have to worry about falling.”</p><p> </p><p>There’s a pause. Yasha and Caleb don’t talk. Much. They really should, because they have a lot in common and it would be rude to ignore it, but there’s a very big difference between giving the other a knowing look before Veth and Jester incite chaos and flying high over the clouds while the sun sets. The second is a little more personal, even though Yasha has never actually done it before.</p><p> </p><p>She hesitates, just for a second. “I, ah-”</p><p> </p><p>Caleb rubs at his face. “Never mind, it was a bad idea, you’re clearly not ready and I pushed too far, I’m sorry Ya-”</p><p> </p><p>“I need to tell the others that we’re going,” she blurts.</p><p> </p><p>Caleb blinks, like he’s one of those abandoned clockwork machines from the Happy Fun Ball and he’s just been turned on. “Is that a yes?”</p><p> </p><p>“Yes! If we leave now do you think we can catch the sunset?” Yasha watches as Caleb’s face goes from impassive to surprised to elated, and she smiles as he grabs her hand and leads her to the edge of the beach where the Nein are camped.</p><p> </p><p>“Caleb, you okay?” Caduceus calls as Caleb runs into the ocean.</p><p> </p><p>“Yasha and I are going flying! We’ll be back!” he yells, smashing a caterpillar cocoon in his hands, before exploding into a ball of butterscotch-coloured feathers that form into a giant owl.</p><p> </p><p>“Sounds like a hoot,” Veth says. Beau throws a copper piece at her.</p><p> </p><p>Caleb hoots, and Yasha holds out her arms. “Let’s go.” He gingerly picks her up, scooping her into his claws instead of clinging to her shoulders. Then, with a few beats of his wings, the two of them are flying high, up and up and up, disappearing into the slowly pinking sky. Yasha looks down at the beach, at the rapidly shrinking dots that are her friends as Caleb flies higher and higher. The sky goes dark and darker still, the colour of Jester’s new favourite lipstick as they reach a height that makes Yasha feel very small.</p><p> </p><p>She reaches up from where she is currently cradled and tugs on a feather. Caleb squawks a little and bends to look down at her. She nods and gives him a thumbs up. He tilts his head a little, clearly a little confused, and Yasha pretends to flap. He hoots, then flaps a little further, still looking down.</p><p> </p><p>“Drop me now!” Yasha yells, though she isn’t quite sure if he can hear her, let alone understand her. She huffs, then begins to stand. Caleb begins to slow, now hovering above the clouds, pulling up wisps of white fluff as he flaps. “Three! Two! One!” she yells, before unfurling her wings.</p><p> </p><p>Caleb gets <em> that </em> signal, and let’s go, even though she’s practically out of his grasp by the time his talons fall loose. Her mostly-white wings feel so right sitting on her shoulders, and she whoops as she loops back on herself, twisting and turning and flipping and running her hands through the clouds and <em> oh. </em></p><p> </p><p>The sun has sunk below the clouds, and the sky has gone from the rosy pink to the sharpest of purples and blacks, and Yasha hovers and watches as the stars begin to burst into view. She is so caught up in it that she forgets her wings have a time limit, and she falls for about two seconds before landing with a soft thud in Caleb’s cupped talons.</p><p> </p><p>“Thanks, Caleb,” she says. He hoots in response, and begins to fly her back down.</p><p> </p><p> </p><p>GOLD </p><p>“Do you, Yasha Nydoorin, take Beauregard Lionette to be your lawfully - and unlawfully because we’re still technically pirates - wedded wife?” Jester asks, doing her best to not sob into her copy of <em> The Traveller’s Guide to Mayhem, Magics and (Im)Mortality </em> as she recites the binding vows for their wedding.</p><p> </p><p>Yasha grins. “I do.”</p><p> </p><p>Jester turns to Beau, tears beginning to fall. “And do you, Beauregard Lionette, take Yasha Nydoorin to be your lawfully wedded wife?”</p><p> </p><p>Yasha looks at Beau, who looks back at her with all the love contained in a thousand kingdoms. “I do.”</p><p> </p><p>Yasha can vaguely make out the sound of ugly crying. It might be Fjord. Might be one of the Pumats. She isn’t sure and can’t be bothered looking, because she’s holding Beau’s hand and sliding on the tiniest golden ring and that’s it, they’re married.</p><p> </p><p>They’re <em> married </em>.</p><p> </p><p>Jester stands up a little straighter. “By the power bequeathed to me by the Traveller, and with all the other gods cool with it, I now pronounce you married! You may kiss the bride!”</p><p> </p><p>Beau leans in. Yasha has an idea, and holds up a finger. “Hang on.”</p><p> </p><p>Beau’s brows furrow. “What’s wrong?”</p><p> </p><p>Yasha winks, and unfurls her wings. Beau laughs as the crowd fake-boos, Yasha’s wings hiding their first married kiss from their audience. It is magical and monumental, and if Caleb happened to pull her aside later to say that their kiss changed the way the world worked she’d believe him.</p><p> </p><p>Yasha pulls back enough to breathe, then kisses her wife again. She moves the wings this time.</p><p> </p><p> </p><p>HYACINTH</p><p>They’re running, the almost terrifying knowledge that there might not be anything left of her friend ripping up her throat and along her spine, tearing through her shoulder blades and out into wings she sort of wishes she had used a little sooner, because she’s not as steady as she wants to be, buffeted against the storm as the rest of the Nein run.</p><p> </p><p>She almost thinks she hears Lucien cackling, but it’s just the snow. It’s probably just the snow. There’s blood on her fingers, sticking to her gloves and she is not going to focus on the fact that it’s Beau’s and instead focuses on fleeing. They have to get away, they have to, or it’s over. </p><p> </p><p>A voice in her head that should sound like Molly but doesn’t quite talk like him, voice too smooth and accent too thick, calls her a traitor, a liar, <em> of course you’d abandon me, you did the same to her too </em>.</p><p> </p><p>A voice which sounds like the Stormlord tells him to shut the fuck up.</p><p> </p><p>She knows that the others hate running, always hate running. They’re a leave no person behind sort of family, and having to turn away from that bastard who’s using Molly for his own personal gain hurts, but she <em> knows </em> they can’t handle it right now. They need help.</p><p> </p><p>This isn’t the first time she’s run from someone she loves in need, she thinks, holding tighter to Caleb as he rummages for spell components, but there’s a feeling in her gut that’s different from before.</p><p> </p><p>She knows this will be the first time she comes back.</p><p> </p><p> </p><p>ISABELLINE</p><p>The book is heavy in her palm, and Yasha wants to scream and cry and howl and yell and make a mess of the plains around her but she won’t. She won’t. The rest of the Nein are at the base of the hill, a good hour hike that Yasha really needed to clear her head, because this is it. This is it, and this is her, with an old cracked headstone and a few specks of moss - or is it mold? Caduceus would know - on top of earth that has clearly not been touched in years.</p><p> </p><p>Yasha kneels in the dirt, shoulders bending under the weight of finality. “Hey, Zuala. Sorry it took so long to find you.” There’s a whisper in the trees. If Yasha was in Zadash she’d almost think she was hearing birdsong, but this is not Zadash.</p><p> </p><p>“I, ah, I made friends! It was hard, you always were the more likeable one, but, um, I did it. I was myself, and I made this friend called Molly, and then came Jester, and Fjord, and Caleb, and Veth, and Caduceus, and Beau. They’re all really cool, and I know you’d like them a lot, especially Jester. She’s the one that reminds me the most of you.”</p><p> </p><p>Yasha takes out a shovel, and stands. “Now, ah, I brought you something.” She begins to dig a shallow hole, roughly book sized. “You see, because I travelled I got to see all these places. Zuala you won’t believe it, I have never seen so many flowers in my life. So, uh, I brought them back for you.”</p><p> </p><p>Yasha stops, kneels down, checks the hole. Not quite big enough. She stands and continues. “They’re in this book of etiquette, because, apparently, out of Molly and I, somehow I was <em> worse </em> at making friends, and he’s bright purple!” She stops for a second. “It’s a good thing to be worse at something, y’know? Like, that someone is there to remind you that it’s okay to suck at something.” She continues digging.</p><p> </p><p>“And then, uh, well, I figured out what all those dreams meant. Turns out the Stormlord thought I was fun, and he gave me the ability to heal, and the ability to <em> fly </em>. Oh, Zuala, I wish I could take you flying.” Yasha stops again, kneels down, checks the hole. It’s a perfect fit.</p><p> </p><p>“I wish I could do a lot of things with you.” She picks up the book, presses it against her forehead, then kisses the insignia on the front. “I wish I could have done more.” Yasha places the book in the hole, and begins to replace the dirt. Not with the shovel, but with her hands, the dry earth crumbling in her fingers as she packs it around the book.</p><p> </p><p>“Now, um, I don’t know if I’ll be ever coming back. It’s not a you thing, it’s a me thing, or, um, how did Caleb explain it to me, an us thing? You’re dead and I’m, well, I dunno, but it isn’t good for either of us if I wallow. I love you though, so much, and I’m pretty sure I always will. But there’s other people that I love too. And I think I have room enough for the both of you.” The final handful of dirt falls into place, and Yasha presses her forehead against the small mound.</p><p> </p><p>“Goodbye, Zuala.” Yasha stands and looks to the sky. It’s getting dark, and if she wants to make it down the mountain before it becomes pitch black and extra dangerous, she’s going to have to fly. She sighs, looks at the stone marker one more time, unfurls her wings and lifts off.</p><p> </p><p> </p><p>JADE </p><p>The necklace is round in her palm, soft in the way stone can be and cool against her curled fingers as she hands it back. She probably paid a bit too much for it, but what’s the problem with that when they’ve got enough money for a small city - or a large one if Fjord says the right things. And it’s not like the craftswoman didn’t need the money, the very elated Goblin chittering excitedly as they slide the recently purchased necklace into a velvet pouch the colour of the sky. Yasha takes the pouch with a promise to come back for more pieces  - she’ll bring the others next time, Jester’s been looking for new horn jewellery - and begins the short walk back to the Xhorhouse.</p><p> </p><p>She kind of missed Xhorhas, or this version at least, with its’ winding iron fences and bustling streets and weird, and delicious, street food. It feels more like home in the city than in the swamp, but that might be because of the community.</p><p> </p><p>Or the company.</p><p> </p><p>Yasha turns into her street to see that there’s a rather loud argument brewing outside the Xhorhouse, Caduceus already on the scene with his best attempts at diffusing the situation. There’s a large crowd gathered, and Yasha really doesn’t want to push her way through the crowd with a gift in her hand. </p><p> </p><p>She sneaks her way into an alley, smiling a little as Caduceus pats one of the disgruntled probably-neighbours, a grey-haired Minotaur, on the shoulder. Once she turns the corner, she presses her back against the stone wall of the alley, inhales, then lets her wings out.</p><p> </p><p>Yasha has a feeling that she’s never going to quite get used to the feeling of her wings forming, powerful divine magic drawing itself from her back and down two invisible paths, flaring out into the kaleidoscope of feathers she’s starting to become known for. She’s not called the Orphanmaker when she looks like Jester’s paint tray.</p><p> </p><p>She takes her time flying up, careful not to hit her wings against any alley windows, then spreads them out to their fullest to <em> fwoomp fwoomp fwoomp </em> across the street to the top of the Xhorhouse. A few kids call out from below her, and Caduceus throws a wave up at her without looking away from the Minotaur - and what looks like a Gnoll in a rather fashionable waistcoat - that he’s talking to. </p><p> </p><p>Yasha’s about to loop her way towards the balcony on the second floor when she spots Beau on the roof, hair out of its topknot as she watches the commotion below. She looks beautiful under the lights on the tree, and Yasha’s heart skips a couple of beats. Yasha slows, landing with a bit more grace than she usually manages a few steps away from Beau. Fortunately, Beau doesn’t turn around, so Yasha can slip the jade necklace into a small pocket on her pants.</p><p> </p><p>“How was the market?” Beau calls as Yasha walks next to her, Yasha’s left wing moving on instinct to curl around her shoulders. Beau, on instinct, curls into Yasha.</p><p> </p><p>“Good. There were a few new stalls, I got to pick something up that I’ve been waiting on. What’s been happening here?”</p><p> </p><p>Beau smiles. “As far as I can tell, the Minotaur’s daughter and the Gnoll’s eldest kid have been secretly dating, and both cultures have really stringent and complicated rules about this sort of thing.”</p><p> </p><p>“Wow.”</p><p> </p><p>“Yeah, so instead of forcing the kids to break up, I think they’re trying to speedrun as many cultural requirements as possible, and Caduceus is standing in as a mediary, which <em> might </em> mean he’s there for the wedding. I might have missed that bit.”</p><p> </p><p>Yasha watches as Caduceus works his magic, racing through what are clearly very complicated steps at approving of a relationship. A teapot and some cups float their way out the window, and Caduceus pours three mugs of steaming herbal tea, completely unfazed at the lack of table underneath.</p><p> </p><p>Beau blinks, like she’s just realised something. “What did you get from the market? Anything interesting?”</p><p> </p><p>Yasha pretends not to hear her, instead watching as a small table zooms out of the front door and lands haphazardly on the footpath. Caduceus, unfazed by its arrival, lowers the teapot onto the table and continues.</p><p> </p><p>“Yasha. You’re hiding something. What were you waiting on?”</p><p> </p><p>Yasha looks at Beau, who has that look which says she’s about three seconds away from rummaging through Yasha’s pockets herself. There are a lot of pockets, so it would take time, but Yasha doesn’t want to give it to her like that.</p><p> </p><p>She pulls the small pouch out of her pocket. “You, ah, oh jeez, I noticed you didn’t replace the necklace you gave to your brother.” Beau does something with her face that makes Yasha flinch. “You don’t have to wear it, don’t worry about it, I’ll take it back-” She won't, this was a commission and that’s just mean. “- I’m sorry, I just thought you’d missed it and maybe you could wear something just as important, but I guess not, ah, don’t worry about it.”</p><p> </p><p>“Yasha.” Beau does that thing with her face again, and it remains there long enough to realise that it’s the same way Jester looks at Fjord when he stops by a bakery specifically for bear paws. “Can I see it?”</p><p> </p><p>Yasha folds the bag into her outstretched hand, curling her fingers around it. “I mean, it’s for you so yeah, of course.”</p><p> </p><p>Beau uncurls her hand, opening the small pouch, long fingers looping through the thin strand and dragging up into the sunlight. “Oh. You saw this and thought of me?”</p><p> </p><p>“Ah… sort of? It’s- oh man I’m digging a hole, it’s custom, okay? They had something similar but it was a little off and I wanted to make sure it was right-”</p><p> </p><p>“Yasha, it’s <em> perfect </em>.” The fine silver strands shine like stars, wrapped around each small piece of jade like lace, or like spider’s web. Much more like spiders web. The larger piece, one side carved into a single eye, rests in the centre, bare of any metal. “Put it on me?” Beau turns, lifting her hair out of the way so Yasha can put it on for her. Her fingers slip a few times on the clasp, but she connects it without too much of a fuss. Yasha’s happy to see she made a great guess at the length, the chain is long enough to hide the eye from prying, well, eyes.</p><p> </p><p>Beau half-turns, and Yasha watches as her fingers keep rolling the eye, the jade sliding back and forth between her fingertips. “Beau?”</p><p> </p><p>Beau meets her gaze. “Thank you, Yasha.” Beau reaches up to press a soft kiss to her cheek.</p><p> </p><p>Below them, the parents laugh.</p><p> </p><p> </p><p>KOBI</p><p>They’re just about to land when Beau, safely placed on the ground, turns to Yasha and changes everything.</p><p> </p><p>“I love you.”</p><p> </p><p>The traditional answer would be along the lines of either “As do I,” or perhaps “I don’t feel the same.” Yasha panics and says, “No, I don’t think you do,” and flies head-first into a tree.</p><p> </p><p>“Yasha!” Beau calls, hands flying to her mouth in shock as Yasha descends, rubbing her head.</p><p> </p><p>“Ow, fuck, fuck.” Yasha’s feet hit the floor, but she refuses to look at Beau. “Ah, oh boy, um-”</p><p> </p><p>Beau almost takes a step forward to stand beside her, but stops. “Okay, are you okay? You flew into a <em> tree </em>, Yasha. Are you okay?”</p><p> </p><p>“I’m- fine, I’m fine. I just panicked!” Yasha’s face is bright red, and Yasha tries to hide it by turning away. Which, yes, is probably going to make the situation worse, but the last time Yasha confessed to feeling actual serious affection for someone, they were brutally murdered. She doesn’t have the best track record.</p><p> </p><p>“Panicked? Why did you panic?”</p><p> </p><p>“Because you’re <em> you </em> , Beau, and I’m me! Why would you even have feelings for me, I’m just a person who fights things with no real technique, and you’re so <em> cool </em> , Beau. You- you punch ghosts and solve crimes and you’re so smart and I’m… I’m just <em> me. </em>”</p><p> </p><p>Beau makes a noise that reminds Yasha of a whimpering animal. “Yasha, there’s nothing ‘just’ about you.”</p><p> </p><p>“You don’t know that.”</p><p> </p><p>“Yes I <em> do </em>. We’ve fought gods together, remember? Real ones and fake ones. We’ve stopped a war together, Yasha.” She reaches out, then stops the motion. “That first time you took me flying? It was one of the best moments of my life. I wanted to tell you so bad, but it didn’t feel right to me. I… I didn’t want to force you into something you didn’t really want-”</p><p> </p><p>“How could I not want you, Beau? You’re perfect. You’re amazing, so amazing. I mean, I’ve seen you fight those Gods, you… you came back for me, after everything I did, and, and you don’t hold it against me. Not that the others do, but I almost killed you, and you still reach out-”</p><p> </p><p>Beau frowns. “You were <em> mind controlled </em>. We’ve established that murder under mind control doesn’t count, Yasha.”</p><p> </p><p>“It’s different with you.”</p><p> </p><p>“Because you like me now?”</p><p> </p><p>“Because I liked you then,” Yasha blurts, and clearly whatever Beau was going to say dies a pitiful death on her tongue, so Yasha falls back on a <em> really </em> old habit and continues. “And, and it was like with Zuala, I couldn’t do anything to save you then and if I’d killed you? Beau it would have killed me, you’re so important to me, it’s all that I can think about- you're all I can think about, and I wouldn’t have it any other way but even the chance of hurting you scares me <em> so </em> much, Beau.”</p><p> </p><p>“Yasha.” Beau whispers her name like a prayer, and actually takes the step she needs to close the gap between them. “I promise, you’re not going to lose me. Don’t worry yourself away from this, please? Don’t write this off just because you’re scared you’re going to lose me.” Beau lifts one hand to her cheek, terribly tender and painfully gentle. “If you really want me to walk away, I will, but I need you to say it, okay?”</p><p> </p><p>Yasha inhales, exhales, inhales. The wings vanish into nothingness.</p><p> </p><p>“Yasha?”<br/><br/></p><p>She kisses her.</p><p> </p><p> </p><p>LAVENDER </p><p>Yasha pulls out a feather with as much grace as Frumpkin learning to samba, meaning with none at all. The white feather she yanked out of one of the joints - she ignores the fact that it was covering that thrice cursed pale purple feather from That Fight -  sits in her palm, heavy and light and a little damp from the mist. She kisses it, as if her lips are filled with luck and it’ll make all the difference.</p><p> </p><p>Then again, it might.</p><p> </p><p>She places it in between two of Molly’s ribs, where the flesh has given way to a well aimed strike from Jester’s Murder Lollipop. It immediately soaks up the red, and she watches as the fine filaments bend under the weight of the blood.</p><p> </p><p>“Alright, let’s try this again,” she says, adjusting her legs so her knees don’t hurt against the ice. “Listen, Lucien. You gave up claim to this body ages ago, so you’re going to sit out of this one, buddy.”</p><p> </p><p>The sky flashes blue-white, thick angry clouds blocking out the light of the full moon.</p><p> </p><p>“Molly, I know you’re there, and I know you’re probably tired of all of this happening with your body, but there are things we need you here for. There are things I need you here for. I don’t know if me wanting you here is enough to make you change your mind, but I’m not going to tell you this super important thing unless you wake up so I can tell it to you properly, okay?”</p><p> </p><p>The sky flashes again.</p><p> </p><p>“You need to come back home, because I need you here. And I’m tired of losing people, Molly, so if you try to be stubborn you’re just going to make me really mad, okay? So come back home now.”</p><p> </p><p>There’s a pause, an awfully heavy pause that settles on the group as they wait, as they watch to see if the diamond shatters, if the feather and the card and the flowers get taken as offerings for him to come back.</p><p> </p><p>There’s a flash of green, then a flash of bright, drowning white. The wounds on Molly are rapidly sewn shut by Traveller-green light, taking the offerings with it, but the scarring is chased away by moonlight, the clouds parting just enough for Molly to be bathed in it. Everyone inhales once, twice, three times.</p><p> </p><p>He rolls over and coughs up blood. Yasha is about to reach over and help him when he stops, moving to sit back on his feet, kneeling in the ice, hands curled over his kneecaps. He breathes in once, twice, three times, then looks at Yasha. “Just my fuckin’ luck, the two of us like the beginning of a shite tavern joke. Angel and a demon walk into a bar and all that, Moonweaver spare me the dishonour.”</p><p> </p><p>Yasha laughs into Molly’s bloodied shoulder as he hugs her.</p><p> </p><p> </p><p>MARIGOLD</p><p>Chrys sneezes. They blink, then sneeze again. Fjord and Jester wince as their eldest child devolves into a sneezing fit, the tiny flower the budding druid had made now setting off an allergy they clearly never saw coming. “Oh dear. Chrys, are you okay?” Jester calls, stepping forward.</p><p> </p><p>Chrys sneezes so hard two gold wings fwoomp out of their back and onto the ground. Yasha, who was standing quietly beside the sidelines, runs behind Chrys and takes their deep yellow hand. </p><p> </p><p>“You’re okay, you’re okay-”</p><p> </p><p>“I’m a bird too!?” Chrys half-screams, the realisation that they’re a newly awakened Aasimar causing their body to curl in on itself.</p><p> </p><p>“You’re fine, you’re okay.”</p><p> </p><p>Chrys’ chest rises, the frantic breathing escaping as wheezes and whines as panic sets in. Yasha unfurls her own wings, wrapping them around the two of them, talking in a low, calm voice until Chrys’s chest settles.</p><p> </p><p>“Hey, so you’re a little bit like me, that’s okay! That’s super okay, and that’s super cool. I can teach you to fly, now, and it’s going to be amazing. But first, you need to slow down your breathing for me, okay? Nice and slow and even, not too fast, just in and out, okay? I know you can do that for me, just copy what I do.”</p><p> </p><p>Chrys stops shaking after a minute, then falls face first into Yasha’s chest. “Thanks, Aunt Yasha.”</p><p> </p><p>Yasha curls a hand into Chrys’ hair, careful of the small horns tucked underneath the surprisingly thick curls. “It’s alright, kiddo, it’s alright.”</p><p> </p><p> </p><p>NICKEL</p><p>“A little more. And, done!” Veth yells from underneath a contraption, the rest of the Nein watching as she wheels the long, metallic object further out into the open space. “Ta da!” She waves her hand at it. “Look what I made!”</p><p> </p><p>“It’s a boat!” Caduceus says.</p><p> </p><p>“No, Caduceus, it’s clearly a giant, uh, giant cart,” Jester explains.</p><p> </p><p>Molly grins. “Don’t be mean. It’s clearly some form of, uh- Veth what actually is it?”</p><p> </p><p>“I built Yasha’s wings!” she yells back, and everyone shares concerned looks.</p><p> </p><p>“Should we go make sure she isn’t going to get herself killed?” Fjord asks. Caleb shrugs.</p><p> </p><p>“It is part of the learning process,” he says. “She’ll be fine.” A pause. “I think.”</p><p> </p><p>Veth unfolds the ‘wings’ and begins to loop leather after leather around her arms. “And now, this halfling is going to fly!” She says, smacking a button on the side. Nothing happens.</p><p> </p><p>Then, in a flash, everything happens. Whatever Veth was using as a combustion agent - probably gunpowder, maybe something more volatile - explodes in one go, rocketing Veth high into the air, so high that the rest of the Nein can barely make out where she ends and the invention begins.</p><p> </p><p>It gets a lot easier to figure out where she is when the invention explodes and crumbles. “Ah, fuck,” Yasha says, unfurling her wings. </p><p> </p><p>Caleb turns to her. “You know she has Fe-”</p><p> </p><p>“I got you!” Yasha leaps into the air, rushing to where Veth is falling. She can hear screaming, which stops just as Yasha grabs Veth and slowly lowers her down. Veth lets out a very long exhale when she hands on the ground, and looks up at Yasha.</p><p> </p><p>“Thanks, Yasha. You didn’t have to do that.”</p><p> </p><p>Yasha frowns. “What, and let you die?”</p><p> </p><p>Veth shakes her head. “No, I have <em> Feather Fall </em>.”</p><p> </p><p>“Are you fucking kidding me?”</p><p> </p><p> </p><p>OBSIDIAN</p><p>The Magician’s Judge sits in her hand like it belongs there, Tharizdun’s newest puppet rising up to meet them. Faint whispers of betrayal and forgiveness bounce through the space, unintelligible to all present but Yasha. The Chained Oblivion has clearly missed his pet Aasimar, but Yasha is too angry to even humour the idea of lowering her sword and joining him.</p><p> </p><p>The… thing in front of them might have been a Tabaxi at one point, but now it’s a collection of shadows and bone and a disturbing number of mouths, all speaking in unison about the world needing to be reborn or some bullshit like that. There’s the sound of rocks crumbling as shadows rip through the ground, taking the shape of half-formed humanoids, elongated limbs swinging as they rush to the group.</p><p> </p><p>Yasha roars and leaps. </p><p> </p><p>Like she’s done this a thousand times before, her wings tear out of her back, the ethereal glow which accompanies their arrival now bright blue and blinding, a ball of divine fury flying directly at the shadowed monstrosity. Its many mouths laugh in cacophonous unison, fanged teeth catching on the lips of other mouths, its many limbs wildly swinging in her direction. What remains of the Tomb Takers - those who didn’t make it out with Lucien - screech as they’re consumed by the shadows, not able to do anything as concentrated darkness turns them into dust.</p><p> </p><p>Caduceus lights up the room, and the familiar scent of crushed mint hits her nose as Yasha’s sword strikes the largest mouth of the shadowed beast. It snarls and snaps at her, but she is used to bigger things attempting to feast on her bones, so she only steps back and strikes again, a quick one-two move that she thinks she picked up from Fjord, a sailor’s dance that she knows the steps to, long lines carved into its front legs and face.</p><p> </p><p>There’s a <em> Fireball </em> , a raspberry flavoured <em> Spiritual Weapon, </em>the sure strokes of her family rushing to help her. Her bad leg shakes a little as she lands on its back, but her hands do all the dirty work, plunging into where its spine should be. It howls and thrashes and shrieks like a motherfuck, but she manages to hold on, sinking the blade deeper and deeper into it.</p><p> </p><p>There’s a violent anger raging through her, like someone’s trapped a thunderstorm in the hollow of her bones and she’s about to burst open, tear open through the space and destroy everything and everyone in her wake. She wants this thing to suffer like she did, to ache like she does, to scream in the middle of the night from nightmares about killing Beau like she does.</p><p> </p><p>She ignores the temptation, instead sliding the blade out, taking aim, and plunging it a little further forward, piercing through the skull and into whatever brain is left. It howls, it screeches, it screams, it pleads in Common and Infernal and bends, knees buckling as it begins to unravel. Caduceus’ <em> Guardians </em> chase the last of the shadow away, and Yasha’s feet hit the ground just as her wings vanish.</p><p> </p><p>Her own knees give way, but there are more than enough hands there to catch her.</p><p> </p><p> </p><p>PALATINATE</p><p>Yasha was not expecting it to be like <em> this </em> . The Stormlord stands in front of her, not in the form of a dream or a ball of lighting or a thunderstorm, <em> actually </em> in front of her: here and tangible, with feet and fingers and the biggest grin on his bearded face.</p><p> </p><p>“Look at you!’’ he says, with all the joviality of that carpenter they met so long ago at Travellercon. His arms are outstretched, and the power of a thousand thunderstorms rumbles in his beard. “Yasha, I am so proud of you!”</p><p> </p><p>“You are?”</p><p> </p><p>“Yes! You have done so well, and made me so proud!” </p><p> </p><p>Yasha has trouble accepting compliments on a good day, so being told that she’s made the God of Storms proud makes her stop for a second. “I- uh- what?”</p><p> </p><p>He clasps his hands on her upper arms. “Oh, you make me proud. You have done so much, huh? So much good in so little time! I knew you wouldn’t let me down, you just needed a push or two in the right direction.” Up close, Yasha can see that some of the lightning in his beard leaps into his eyes and ears, like he’s a spell waiting to explode.</p><p> </p><p>“Yeah, uh, thanks. For the pushes. And the wings.” At the mention of her wings, said spectral limbs unfurl, like somebody dropped two kaleidoscopes and didn’t bother cleaning it up.</p><p> </p><p>“Yes, yes, yes, the wings. Do you like them? Normally, I’d pick a colour for you, but I thought you’d appreciate them changing with you, it gives you a choice for what colour they are.” Kord waves one hand around like it's nothing, like he hadn’t completely changed her life by giving her a tangible reminder of the person she is becoming, like it was no big deal that Yasha could track very important moments with the wings on her back.</p><p> </p><p>“You’re the reason they’re so colourful? You made them like that?” Yasha asks, and he nods.</p><p> </p><p>“I knew you’d like them. Now, I’d love to keep you here, but I can hear that monk of yours calling for you. It’s cute, y’know, I’ve been rooting for you two for a while.” He elbows her and winks like he’s told her a great joke. </p><p> </p><p>Yasha flushes beet red. “She’s not- I’m not- urgh.” She buries her face in her hands, then slowly lifts them. “Wait, calling for me?”</p><p> </p><p>Kord looks at her with tenderness. “It’ll make sense when you go back.” He snaps his fingers, and Yasha gasps as she wakes up, her head cradled in Beau’s lap, her right arm broken, everything smelling of blood and fire and death.</p><p> </p><p>Death. Oh shit, she died.</p><p> </p><p>Beau is weeping into her hair, hand tight in her uninjured one. Yasha doesn’t let go for a very long time.</p><p> </p><p> </p><p>QUINACRIDONE</p><p>Yasha slams Beau up against the wall of their home outside Zadash, pressing her sword-calloused hands against Beau’s hips and lifting. Beau gets the message, wrapping her legs around Yasha’s waist, not bothering to break their heated kiss to make sure she’s settled, or that the door is closed, or that there’s no poor soul getting a good view of the High Curator and a woman made of lightning kissing beside the fireplace.</p><p> </p><p>Yasha really should stop, should sit down and ask her about all the goddamn trips that kept them away from each other, each trip taking longer than planned and cutting into their time together to the point that it has been <em> months </em> since they’ve spent more than twenty minutes in the same room. But she can ask all that tomorrow, because Beau will be here tomorrow, and so will she, so instead of asking about whether that trip to Marquet was helpful she pulls off Beau’s top with one hand, flinging it to some corner of the room.</p><p> </p><p>“It’s so hot when you do that.” Beau groans, “Holding me up with one hand like I’m nothing.” Beau bites at her jawbone, her own hands moving to unlace Yasha’s tunic.</p><p> </p><p>“We should get to the bed. We can do mo-<em> ah </em>, fuck, can do more.” Yasha offers, wanting to use her hands for something other than holding up Beau’s butt. It is, however, a very nice butt.</p><p> </p><p>“Don’t want to let go, though.” Beau whispers against her pulse point. Yasha has a genius idea.</p><p> </p><p>“Don’t let go, then.” She says. Beau tenses in her arms for a half second, then laughs in delight as Yasha’s wings unfurl, lifting them just high enough that Yasha can maneuver over their furniture towards the bedroom. Sure, they could walk, and it would be much easier than little half-flaps over the coffee table, but Yasha is obsessed with the way Beau’s breath hitches with every shift of the wings, one hand moving very much lower towards the laces of her breeches.</p><p> </p><p>“God that’s so hot. You need to take me to bed like this more often, god<em> damn </em> Yasha.” Beau groans as they actually make it past the doorway to their bedroom, the last few stubborn beans of sunlight bouncing off of far too luxurious bed linens that Yasha is determined to wrinkle.</p><p> </p><p>Yasha lifts them up a little higher so she can carefully place Beau in the centre of the bed, before resting on her knees over Beau’s hips. “I dunno, I might have knocked something over there before, maybe I should go-” Her attempts at sarcasm are muffled when Beau rushes up to kiss her, arms curling around her shoulder and reaching for the part of her body where flesh and bone become slightly more blessed flesh and bone. Yasha moans when Beau’s fingers rub into the joint, panting against her lips because Beau knows how to make her feel good. Her hands reach for the hem of Yasha’s shirt and pull it off so fast Yasha blinks and she’s topless, Beau’s hands wandering up her stomach and resting on her ribcage as Beau pulls her into another kiss.</p><p> </p><p>“We can clean up later. I want to make a mess of you first.”</p><p>
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</p><p>RUBY</p><p>Marion Lavorre sure knows how to throw a party. She also knows how to play puppeteer to a number of politicians in Nicodranas, thereby removing any sort of bounty on Jester’s head for her ‘acts of social disturbance’, which were all really justified because that guy was gross. It helped that Jester was part of the illustrious Mighty Nein, whose adventures in Zadash and beyond had ended the war and brought on a tentative peace that actually looked like it had a chance for sticking.</p><p> </p><p>There are nobles and politicians and generals and the occasional every person mingling at this gathering. Every important person from Wildemount - and a few from Tal’Dorei - is here, and Yasha really should be going to talk to them.</p><p> </p><p>She’s hiding on the balcony instead. Crowds are too much, some days, and there are days where she stares at Skingorger and sees cobalt fabric at the end. Those days aren't too often, but they’re often enough.</p><p> </p><p>There’s the sound of footsteps and the clinking of jewellery. “Are you alright?” asks the Ruby of the Sea, and Yasha gives her a soft smile. </p><p> </p><p>“Just needing some air. I can’t handle too many crowds, y’know?” Yasha explains, and Marion nods.</p><p> </p><p>“I used to be like that, always skittish around crowds.”</p><p> </p><p>Yasha blinks at her. “What changed?”</p><p> </p><p>Marion sips her drink. “I found a crowd that I enjoyed being around. A group of friends, if you will.”</p><p> </p><p>“Why are <em> you </em> out here, then? This is your party.” Yasha asks, and Marion looks into her cup.</p><p> </p><p>“It seems that one of my guests is a lot more abrasive when intoxicated.” Yasha’s brows furrow. “He is anti-tiefling.”</p><p> </p><p>Yasha slams down her drink. “Well. Okay. Let’s stop it.” She takes her arm.</p><p> </p><p>Marion starts. “Yasha, you do not need to-”</p><p> </p><p>“Nope, I do. Because your daughter is one of the best parts of my life and if I didn’t defend her mother when I had the chance, she’d be very disappointed in me.” Yasha’s wings unfurl, and, realising what is exactly about to happen, Marion's host smile becomes a lot more sincere.</p><p> </p><p>“A tiefling consort and an angel walk into a poorly-hidden bacchanal, now <em>that</em> is a good joke opener.” Marion says as they re-enter the room to the cheers and laughter of the crowd.</p><p> </p><p>Yasha remembers a snowy deathtrap and a pair of warm, red eyes. "Moonweaver spare us the dishonour." Marion's laughter is like bells.</p><p> </p><p> </p><p>SAPPHIRE</p><p>“Yasha, you <em> have </em> to come with me, it’s super serious! Like, super <em> duper </em> serious and if you don’t come with me right know something might <em> explode </em>.”</p><p> </p><p>Yasha raises one eyebrow. “Jester.”</p><p> </p><p>“I’m serious, Yasha!” Yasha looks at Jester. She does look serious, with a distinctive pout and wrinkle in her brow, but Jester is also one of the best liars she knows.</p><p> </p><p>“Fine. I’ll come with you, but if something doesn’t explode I’m going to be real mad.” She won’t, really, because explosions always leave a lot of mess, even if they have magic to clean it up.</p><p> </p><p>Jester looks at her, purple eyes wide. “Okay, maybe something won’t explode, but I need to talk to you and it's <em> super </em> serious.”</p><p> </p><p>Panic wells in Yasha’s throat. Jester is never serious. “What’s wrong? Is someone hurt- wait, no you can fix that, is someone trying to hurt you?” She’s doing better with the constant terror that someone is going to take away her family again, but when Jester says something is serious that terror begins to start its repetition of how much she can lose.</p><p> </p><p> Jester can clearly see her panicking, and presses her hands against Yasha’s cheeks. “No! No, no no no, no not at all. It’s a good serious, I promise.” She scrunches her nose and mouth, like she’s trying to figure out what to say, then sighs. “I need your help. Proposing to Fjord. I have no idea what I’m doing.”</p><p> </p><p>Oh. <em> Oh </em>.</p><p> </p><p>It turns out that not only has Jester managed to tell almost everybody they know, but every single person who <em> does </em> know has kept it a secret from Fjord, who thinks this trip he’s taking with Jester to the Coast is simply because they can. Gods above, even <em> Yussa </em> knows, and, sure, he knows because they’re using his circle to get there, but Jester didn’t really have to give specifics. The two of them are taking a short trip island-hopping via the <em> Nein Heroez </em>, and then returning to a cabin on the outskirts of the city to 'recover' for a few days, when really Jester's hoping to celebrate their engagement.</p><p> </p><p>The rest of the Nein - as well as many friends as <em> Teleport </em> could carry - are currently tasked with making the tiny grove of the seaside cabin they are staying at as fairytale-esque as possible, which is more difficult than it sounds, because most of Caleb’s fairy tales are sad, Yasha never had fairy tales growing up, Veth thinks most explosives are romantic and Caduceus is <em> still </em> arguing with the wildlife about pooping on the recently polished fountain, even with Reani’s help.</p><p> </p><p>Yasha’s main job is to have people on her shoulders, helping Molly and Reani and, on one notable occasion, both Brenattos, so that they can hang what turns out to be about a hundred little lanterns from the trees, each containing a single flicker of <em> Continual Flame </em>. It is a little over the top, but Jester specifically requested fairy tale, and what says fairy tale more than a pile of fake fireflies within a small garden overlooking the ocean? Even with Yasha’s limited experience in the matter, she knows the answer is ‘not much.’</p><p> </p><p>They’ve been working on the grove for what feels like months - Caleb makes the point to remind them that it has been only a few days - when Fjord and Jester are due to arrive back. Everyone is full of energy, not bothering to talk while the final touches are made. Animals are kindly ferried away for the evening, expensive wine is brought into the home, fresh pastries and fruit placed on a platter, the fountain is polished - again. Once there is nothing left to do aside from argue as to how many grapes should be on the plate - they eventually agree that the best number is twenty seven - the rest of the Nein and their friends leave the lovers to their own devices.</p><p> </p><p>Fjord and Jester are about to enter the cabin when Yasha realises some of the lanterns aren’t uncovered. Shit. Shit, shit, shit, fuck. She looks, panicked, back at Caleb, who frowns at her.</p><p> </p><p>“What?” He mouths. She mimes uncovering a lantern, and his eyes widen just a little bit. </p><p> </p><p>“I got it.” She mouths back. He nods once, giving her a thumbs up as she sneaks through the bushes towards the tree. She knows the lanterns are too high for her to reach from the ground, so she lets her wings out when she hears the sound of laughter, hoping the sound of them landing in the bushes is lost in the punchline of whatever joke Jester just told. She leaps up into the tree, using the wings for extra lift, and rapidly pulls off a good thirty fabric lantern covers, tucking each cover into any spare pocket or sash or belt she can manage. She’s pulling off the last two when she hears the sound of footsteps, Fjord and Jester making their way into the grove. Yasha panics, and acts on instinct.</p><p> </p><p>She dives into the tree’s canopy, wings curled around her so she looks less like a barbarian trying to be sneaky and more like a large bird that forgot to go away for the evening. Thankfully, Fjord notices the lanterns before he notices Yasha, and once he’s done noticing the lanterns he’s a bit busy noticing Jester asking him to marry her. Which is super sweet, and makes Yasha cry a little. Proposals are… nice, though a little alien. Coming from a place where love was predetermined sometimes makes it hard to understand all the little courting things people do in the Dynasty and the Empire. But, judging by the looks on both their faces, and the teary smiles of the rest of the Nein as they all sneak out of their hiding spots, it's all worth it in the end. </p><p> </p><p>Beau meets her gaze from across the group hug. Yeah, it's worth it.</p><p>
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</p><p>TANGERINE</p><p>There’s blood pouring out of a cut in her eyebrow, and Yasha revels in it. The cut is probably from a few days ago, because she hasn’t been punched in the face recently, which says a lot seeing as she’s been sparring with the Stormlord’s followers at Vasselheim since she arrived in the Holy City a few weeks ago. She and Beau were meant to be working with the Cobalt Soul here, but Beau’s been running mission after mission. So Yasha trains and spars, learning new techniques and brushing up on old ones, most of the time keeping to herself.</p><p> </p><p>Except for today.</p><p> </p><p>She heard about it the day she arrived, the Goliath who can grow to the size of a house, blessed with all the rage and strength of the Stormlord’s greatest storms, a monster in the battlefield and a terror to face in the sands. So, of course, she throws her name in as a possible competitor, making sure to slip to Earthbreaker Groon that she’s not as human as she looks. He looks at her like he already knew that, which he probably did, but it’s better to remind him of that fact just in case.</p><p> </p><p>She’s almost at the other end of the open arena, eyebrow wound forced open by the brunt force of being rammed into by eight feet of Goliath. He’s still standing, grinning behind a respectable beard. “C’mon, I was promised a fight!” He yells, though with no ill will, almost a sibling-like rivalry that reminds her of the Clays back home. She can feel it, in the air, on her tongue. The Stormlord is watching this, his two champions fighting for the thrill, for the enjoyment, for the sake of the brawl.</p><p> </p><p>“You want a fight, huh, big guy?” She yells back, cracking her knuckles. The biggest stormcloud she’s ever seen forms in seconds overhead. The crowd is roaring, raging, wanting to see what happens next, who’s going to make the first move. Lightning crackles once, twice, a third time.</p><p> </p><p>The Goliath, Grog the Victorious, roars and sprints at her.</p><p> </p><p>Yasha, remembering Eiselcross and that giant white dragon, bends at the knees and jumps, wings taking her high into the sky.</p><p> </p><p>“When the fuck could you do that!?” He yells, half annoyed and half delighted, watching her lift higher and higher into the sky. “Where are you going? The fun’s down here!” She spins, starting a fast freefall aimed straight at the Champion. Grog’s face lights up even brighter the second he realises what she’s doing, which is a half-second before she impacts into his side, sending him flying into the arena wall. The roar of the crowd is lost over the rolling of thunder, and even that is hard to hear as the close combat leads them to blows, Yasha barely managing to lift out of the way of a few close calls that may have called the match.</p><p> </p><p>There’s blood in her hair, in her mouth, in his beard and trailing down his nose, and more than enough of it splattered over the sands as they continue to fight, blow after blow after unyielding blow. She can feel her wings starting to give way, the magic holding them corporeal running out of time, so she has one last shot at doing something really stupid. She flies, straight up, as fast and as hard as she can.</p><p> </p><p>“C’mon! I can’t reach you from up there!” Grog says, arms extended. Lightning crackles above her, and there’s an ancient and terrifying urge to fly right into the storm. She can feel her wings failing, slowly flickering in and out. A few more seconds of height, that’s all she needs. She nosedives, aiming right for the other Champion. He roars, delight on his face. The crowd roars, having no idea what’s about to happen. Her hand forms a single, solid fist. They collide.</p><p> </p><p>For a few seconds, Yasha can’t see anything, the feeling of the bones in her fist meeting a very solid skull forcing her senses to hyperfocus on her five fingers and her palm. Her vision clears, and she realises she’s kneeling in the sand, her uninjured hand holding herself up. She looks up, looks around for the Champion. He’s in the same position, looking at her with a very bruised face. She rushes to stand, staggering a little as her vision blurs, but it clears quick enough to be able to watch Grog almost stagger into the wall. She raises her good fist. He does the same.</p><p> </p><p>Lightning strikes in the sand, glass forming almost instantaneously under their feet. Both of them jump back as the lightning remains in place for a few seconds, then disappears, taking the clouds with it.</p><p> </p><p>“I think that means we stop.” Yasha says. Yells. Her ears might be ringing. She walks up to him, holding out her good hand.</p><p> </p><p>“Yeah. Want an ale?” He shakes her hands. She throws all her healing at him. No hard feelings, right?</p><p> </p><p>She nods. “Yeah. I’m Yasha, by the way.”</p><p> </p><p>Grog grins. “I know.” He points to the sky. “He told me.”</p><p> </p><p> </p><p>ULTRAMARINE</p><p> </p><p>“High Curator,” Yasha says, taking in Beau’s new robes. The deep blue, with the occasional stitch of aesthetically pleasing violet, suit her. So does the makeup she’s done for today. The dark blue liner highlights the shape of her eyes and her cheekbones and Yasha would really like to kiss her wife right now. But she really shouldn’t, because they’re in public, and Essek is here, and Essek needs them to carry some important magical items to the library to be catalogued. And by ‘important’, he means ‘world-ending’, and by ‘catalogued’ he means ‘destroyed’. Nothing unusual.</p><p> </p><p>“Stormbringer,” Beau replies, taking in Yasha’s, well, Yasha’s new <em> everything. </em></p><p> </p><p>“Are you two going to fuck around with your titles or are you going to actually help me get this to the library?” Essek asks.</p><p> </p><p>“Gods forbid I flirt with my wife, who I haven’t seen in months,” Beau snarks back, picking up four of the smaller boxes that need to be carried. “Can’t you, like, magic this shit there? What do you need us for?”</p><p> </p><p>“Because I cannot, as you say, ‘magic this shit’ there, Beauregard. It must be carried, otherwise it will explode and take this plane with it.” Essek beams, like an asshole, and Yasha takes the opportunity to flex her new tattoos, a gift from a friend of the Stormlord’s other champion. Yasha picks up a box, and catches Beau’s gaze out of the corner of her eye. She is staring, noticeably staring, and Yasha takes the opportunity to noticeably stare back, trailing her eyes down the ornate embroidery on Beau’s back and sleeves and belt. She makes sure to brush her hands against Beau’s as they hand the artefacts off to people who introduce themselves to Yasha as librarians. Which is an obvious lie, because the warhammer does not seem standard librarian fare. She makes sure to drop her voice a little lower when checking in on Beau, and, judging by Essek’s growing expression of resignation, her not-so-subtle flirting seems to be working.</p><p> </p><p>The librarians take each box, and one by one the pile dwindles until it’s two rather small boxes left to transport. Yasha picks up the slightly larger one, a wooden chest with a few dozen chains wrapped around it so it doesn’t open. Ominous. Yasha watches Beau watch her as she bends over to pick it up, a much slower than necessary bend of her back, an entirely unnecessary roll of her shoulders as she adjusts her stance, making sure the chest is extra secure. She looks up. The sky is clear, no clouds, nothing to obscure the view. </p><p> </p><p>She unfurls her wings, and Beau hisses lowly at the handfuls of new colours, violent orange and jet black and the oddest shade of blue-green-purple, that now rest amongst the once-white feathers. “Are you seriously going to take it like tha-” Essek’s disappointment is lost in the sound of Yasha’s lift-off, and she hollers in enjoyment as she flies her way to the library. She can see the vague shapes of people below, most of which are probably not used to her flying through the city skyline like an overly large bird. The streets remain the same. Some of the guards shout loud profanities when they realise she <em> isn't </em> a bird, and soon she’s landing on a library balcony a few floors up from ground level.</p><p> </p><p>She probably shouldn’t have flown, seeing as this artefact might be world-ending and the walk wasn’t that long, but she wasn’t struck down by lightning, so it should be fine.</p><p> </p><p>Yeah, should be fine.</p><p> </p><p>She walks through the corridors and hands over the final box to one of the librarians, who blink a few times at the wings on her back. “The last one should be here soon.” She says, well aware that Beau is probably right behind her, if not already at the library. The librarian bows, thanking her for her service. Yasha nods in return.</p><p> </p><p>She turns, walking back down the hall she came then stopping as a familiar figure in blue runs past her. Beau has a very familiar expression on her face, the same one she gets when she’s pouring over books and finds a solution to a problem. Beau races down the hall, giving her own box to the slightly startled librarian with no more than a ‘here you go’, then runs back to Yasha.</p><p> </p><p>“Are you <em> fucking </em> kidding me?” She half-snarls, hand fisted in Yasha’s tunic as she drags her into a shadowed corner. “Do you know how hot that was, you flying off with a world-ending relic like that?” There’s a fiery look in her eyes, one that Yasha knows all too well, and it makes a fire rip through her heart and lungs and fingertips.</p><p> </p><p>“I thought we agreed libraries were only for studying?” Yasha pants, losing her breath as Beau unceremoniously presses her against the wall. Beau leans in, noses almost touching.</p><p> </p><p>“Don’t worry, I’ll study your new feathers when I’m done.”</p><p> </p><p> </p><p>VIRIDIAN</p><p> </p><p>“I asked her for a favour,” Caduceus Clay says over a cup of tea that he says isn’t from a dead person, but Yasha knows him well enough to know that’s a lie. Probably. There is a sizable chance that it’s from a dead person, and that’s not the weirdest thing about her life right now.</p><p> </p><p>Yasha blinks. “You can ask the Wildmother for a favour?”</p><p> </p><p>“Can’t you?”</p><p> </p><p>“No. Kord just yells at me until I feel good about myself.”</p><p> </p><p>Caduceus rumbles his way through a chuckle. “That’s one way to do it.” He puts down his cup. “I noticed how much you really liked flying- actually, you know what, it’ll make more sense if I just show you. How about you get them out for me? You can do that today, right?”</p><p> </p><p>Yasha nods, and rolls her shoulders as the wings unfold. They fall gracefully behind her, the multiple colours sprawling from her back and towards the tips, even though said tips remain solidly snow white for the moment. “Okay, what next?”</p><p> </p><p>Caduceus shakes his head. “Let’s just finish the tea, then I’ll explain, okay?”</p><p> </p><p>Yasha raises her cup. “I trust you.”</p><p> </p><p>Caduceus beams. “Good, that’s good.”</p><p> </p><p>They talk about things, stuff and nonsense, and it’s only when Caduceus puts on a third pot of tea that Yasha realises that her wings are still out. It’s been over a minute, and her wings are still <em> out </em>.</p><p> </p><p>She turns to look behind her, and almost drops her cup when she realises that they really are still out. She spins back around to face Caduceus. “What did you do?”</p><p> </p><p>He raises his cup to his lips with a soft grin. “I asked her to make them a little sturdier for you, so now they last a bit longer. They’ll feel like real wings, too.”</p><p> </p><p>She swings one wing around and clutches at some of the feathers. They’re soft in her hand, fragile and delicate. They’re real.</p><p> </p><p>She leaps out of her seat, knocking her cup to the ground, and pulls him into a tearful hug.</p><p>
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</p><p> </p><p>WISTERIA</p><p>Yasha finds the kid in an alley in Zadash during a trip into town. They’re small, smaller than they should be, with eyes wild with something that isn’t terror but she <em> swears </em> looks familiar, so she does what her instincts tell her to do. </p><p> </p><p>She brings the kid home.</p><p> </p><p>Beau isn’t home - off on one of the other continents, being a genius and a badass but not here either way - so it's just the two of them, Yasha struggling to figure out how to help a kid who keeps staring past her shoulder at something. She can’t send a message to the others that would get here in time for their help to be useful, so instead she drops by the library - ha - and picks up every book she can find on scared kids and healing and trauma. It isn’t much, but it’s a start, and soon the kid, who doesn’t give a name so she just calls Kid, starts meeting her eyes, then answering her questions with answers that are longer than ‘yes’ or ‘no’. </p><p> </p><p>It takes a few months, and a few too many nightmares, but eventually Kid stops flinching when Yasha reaches out for help, and actually starts reaching out in turn. It’s nice, being wanted, being needed. Yasha helps them with their long, thick hair, braiding it to keep it out of the way. The two of them tend to a notable floral garden during the day, surviving on the surplus of money left over from adventuring. They make up a few traditions, like drinking the most elaborate hot cocoas on nights which require blankets for the both of them, and its over one particular cup of hot cocoa that Kid begins to talk.</p><p> </p><p>“I keep hearing this word, Yasha. I don’t know what it means.”</p><p> </p><p>“What name?”</p><p> </p><p>“Thuron. I keep hearing ''Thuron’’.”</p><p> </p><p>It sounds Xhorhassian, Yasha thinks. She doesn’t say it out loud, instead listening to Kid talk about their dreams and worries and fears, always afraid, always curled up in a blanket because they’re always cold.</p><p> </p><p>Then, a few hours later, she remembers what the beacon does. She doesn’t remember meeting a Thuron, or hearing about one dying on this side of the border, but she also wasn’t around for most of their journeys through Zadash in the beginning, so it’s perfectly possible that a Drow died here and was reborn.</p><p> </p><p>Yasha explains what must happen the next morning, and she and Kid - Thuron doesn’t fit right, like Kid is looking at what it means through a peephole and not getting a clear picture - leave that night. She leaves a note for Beau, just in case she comes back, then begins to make the long trek towards Rosohna, because surely someone will help them. Maybe Caleb, he’s currently there with Essek working on some wizard bullshit. It’s difficult, going through all the checks to cross the border, finding accommodation in each small town, but they make it eventually, and they’re almost at the city limits when things go from annoying to absolutely terrible. </p><p> </p><p>It turns out that some folk really don't like humans. Like, really <em> really </em> don’t.</p><p> </p><p>The attackers slaughter their mounts when they split off to make camp, and are about to move onto Yasha and Kid next when battle instinct takes over. She grabs Kid, ignoring the loud protests, opens her wings and lifts off. She says quick prayers of thanks to both the Stormlord and the Wildmother for the wings, because even with their blessings it’s going to be close, bolts from crossbows whizzing past the two of them and ow, <em> fuck </em>, two of them lodge themselves into Yasha’s lower torso and upper thigh. One of them definitely goes in deep, but she can’t stop to check because she has to get Kid to safety, she made that promise the second she took them off the street. A third one strikes Yasha in her other leg just as she’s about to fly over the wall, and that one definitely goes all the way through her leg.</p><p> </p><p>Essek’s tower is on the other side of the city, and she knows she won’t make it if she tries to go there. The palace is closer, a lot closer. This is a terrible idea. She’s got no others left. She flaps her wings like she’s never flapped before, feeling her shoulders protest the sudden push towards what looks like an open balcony she can vaguely make out from the glow of the streetlights.</p><p> </p><p>Her vision begins to blur, and she leans to the side, before grunting and fighting to get back on course. She has to make it. She can hear Kid yelling something, but she can’t hear them over the wind and the blood loss and the effort it’s going to take to get the kid to safety. She can hear other things, warning bells, maybe, but she can't focus on anything other than the approaching balcony. Just a few more feet, a few more flaps.</p><p> </p><p>They crash unceremoniously against the polished marble, Yasha’s blood smearing along the floor as she tumbles into a room she can’t remember if she’s seen before. She fumbles to get the sigil out from underneath her tunic as guards rush to her, and she half-grins, struggling to stay awake. “Found another one.” She slurs, before falling into blessed unconsciousness.</p><p> </p><p>She wakes up some time later, to the sound of loud conversation outside her room. There’s a female voice, and someone who sounds a lot like Caleb, but Caleb’s in Rosohna, and she’s still-</p><p> </p><p>Oh, right. The trek, the fight, the bleeding all over the city, the terrible landing. She goes to sit up, then groans loudly as three different wounds pull. Ow.</p><p> </p><p>The door to the room she’s staying in - probably in the palace, judging by the sheer amount of ornate detail on the roof - swings open, and a frantic-looking Caleb walks in.</p><p> </p><p>“Yasha.”</p><p> </p><p>“Caleb. Hi.” She tries to grin. He does not return the gesture. The grin falls.</p><p> </p><p>“You almost died.” He puts his hands on his hips, and Yasha tries to hold back laughter because she’s seen this version of Caleb before, but it’s never been directed at her. It is a long time coming, at least. “According to the guards, you were attacked outside city limits, and instead of calling for help you flew through the city, while bleeding out, on the off chance that you weren’t killed on sight for entering the palace without permission.”</p><p> </p><p>She ignores all his logic. “Is Kid okay?”</p><p> </p><p>Caleb sighs. “Yes, they are okay. Their family is thankful that you have returned their lost child. You were right, Thuron was from Xhorhas. We, ah, I mean the rest of the Nein, actually met Thuron.” There’s a pause. “We saw him die.”</p><p> </p><p>Shadows pass over his face that she hates seeing. “At least we know the beacons still work.” She says, not wanting to address how sad he looks.</p><p> </p><p>He huffs a soft smile onto his face. “I’m glad you are better.” He takes her hand, rubbing his finger along her knuckles, grounding the both of them. There’s a second of silence. “I told Beau.”</p><p> </p><p>“Fuck, I’m screwed!”</p><p> </p><p> </p><p>XANADU</p><p> </p><p>She flies her way to the top of the forest, following the solid line of tree bark to the canopy above. The leaves fade green to purple to black to something that isn’t quite black as she chases the setting sun, wanting to be there the moment it happens.</p><p> </p><p>“Ready?” Caduceus calls out from down below, his height not doing much in the way of letting him be heard.</p><p> </p><p>“Ready!” She yells back. She doesn’t hear him cast the spell, use the power Melora gave him, but she feels it in the air. The air gets cooler, thicker, more humid.</p><p> </p><p>Beneath her, decades of work and patience and trial and error bloom beneath her, the Savalierwood rapidly healing from its sickness, hundreds of years of death and decay being chased out by wave after wave of bright blue-green magic, lighting the forest like rings of fireflies. She counts the seconds between each ring, each pulse of life and magic, wanting to get the timing just right. The next pulse surges into the air, and she laughs as she races it to the edge, wings brushing the very top of the magic on the downward stroke. The magic smells like the herbs Caduceus smashes into tea, like when it rains too long and the ground says ‘we don’t need it’, like taking a breath for the first time in a long time.</p><p> </p><p>It’s <em> exhilarating </em>. </p><p> </p><p>She loops around a few more times, chasing each wave of magic because what else is she meant to do on a day like this, when everything Caduceus has worked so hard for comes to fruition? There’s no time to be sad, not when there’s so much life around. There’s no room for her sorrow-laden routine, for her grief and her pain and her- no, not tonight. Tonight is about growth, about new beginnings, about all the weirdly poetic endings that would make a librarian happy.</p><p> </p><p>Beau would have loved seeing this.</p><p> </p><p> </p><p>YELLOW</p><p> </p><p>She meets the baby tiefling-orc-genasi - and wow is that a mouthful- on a rainy day, but that doesn’t quite matter, because the tiny child is sunshine yellow. Which does go against everything Yasha has learnt through Jester about colour theory, but that also doesn’t matter, because the newborn is curling five tiny gold digits around Yasha’s giant finger and that’s all that is important.</p><p> </p><p>“I've had a baby, and I can tell you, that kid is in the top ten cutest babies I’ve seen. Wait, no, top five.” Veth says from her stool in the corner, grinning maniacally.</p><p> </p><p>“Well, I haven’t delivered many babies, but that is a cute baby. Maybe it’s the yellow.” Caduceus says from his own stool.</p><p> </p><p>“Yellow is a very good colour.” Jester beams, watching Yasha as she curls up on a chair, the tiny Chrysanta - Chrys for short - in her arms.</p><p> </p><p>There’s more conversation about getting the last few things for their apartment by the Chateau and how their trip to Marquet is going to be postponed for a few years, but Yasha is too enamoured by the tiny child in her arms.</p><p> </p><p>Chrysanta’s asleep, well into a nap spanning a few hours, and Yasha holds a little tighter as Chrysanta shifts and shakes and yawns the biggest yawn Yasha has ever seen, bright eyes opening. Chrysanta grins, their free hand reaching up to Yasha’s braid, catching at the bead. Yasha pulls the braid away, just in case Chrysanta tries to eat it, a little sorry that she has nothing else to entertain the child.</p><p> </p><p>A voice which sounds a lot like the Stormlord reminds her that she does. Yasha leans forward a little, making sure there’s enough room, then curls one multicoloured wing around her shoulder, twisting and turning it so that the dazzling end feathers shift and catch the candlelight.</p><p> </p><p>In her arms, Chrysanta squeals.</p><p> </p><p> </p><p>ZOMP </p><p> </p><p>The sky goes dark, then bright blue as Yasha sits in the gardens of Caduceus’ home. She can hear conversation behind her, further back towards the treeline, but her focus is on the speck of light that’s growing in size. She should get up to tell Caduceus, she thinks, but before she has time to stand on aching bones the light swallows her whole.</p><p> </p><p>She knows this place, this half-real half-fantastical place, where the trees are no longer the deep purple-greys of the Savalierwood, but are now a shock of blue like lightning.</p><p> </p><p>There are footsteps behind her, and Yasha spins around at a speed that surprises even her. Her bones don’t ache with age and years of combat; her head does not spin and her eyes do not need a second to focus, as if she is not recently past a hundred and sixty and is now suddenly thirty again. She reaches for her sword, cursing when she finds its scabbard empty. With no other options, she lets out her wings, now multicoloured and resplendent, all feathers an individual shade, save for the last white feather on her right wing, untouched and unchanged and uncoloured. In the back of her mind, she knows that this is the last time she will pull out her wings, and the fear of an end is swallowed by the need to figure out <em> where the hell she is </em>.</p><p> </p><p>“Hello?” She calls out to the woods, and the sound of a familiar half-laugh makes her chest ache.</p><p> </p><p>Beauregard Lionette steps from the shadows, arms crossed, looking twenty years younger than when she had actually died, hair with streaks of grey which made her look more distinguished and less like the mail-stealing dumbass Yasha fell in love with all those years ago. “Hey, Yasha.” She’s dressed in the clothes she wore that day, the day she became important to not just Yasha but to <em> everyone </em>, when the council of Tal’Dorei saw her walk into a room and stood in her honour.</p><p> </p><p>Yasha falls to her knees, the sob tearing from her throat like it was dragged out with a hook, and before she has the sense to stand, Beau’s hands curl against her back and in her feathers, the familiar embrace so tangible. “Am- am I dead?” She whispers into Beau’s undercut, and Beau presses the briefest kiss to her cheek as she pulls away.</p><p> </p><p>“Not quite. If you want, you can stay with Caduceus a few more days, settle everything that needs to be settled-” Yasha presses her hands to Beau’s cheeks. They’re so warm.</p><p> </p><p>“No, no there’s nothing to be taken care of. I’m yours, I’m all yours.” Thunder rolls above, lightning flashing immediately after. “Well.”</p><p> </p><p>Beau laughs into her hand. “I get it. We’ve both been waiting for you.” Beau looks up, and Yasha follows her gaze to see where the clouds have parted. Beau stands, catching Yasha’s hands in her own. “How’s one more flight, for old time’s sake?”</p><p> </p><p>Yasha stands, curling her arms around Beau’s waist as Beau rests her arms on her shoulders. “Oh, I guess I could do one more flight.” She presses a kiss twelve years in the making to Beau’s lips. “Ready?”</p><p> </p><p>“Now that you’re here? Absolutely.” Yasha inhales. The trees bend under the weight of the approaching storm. Her wings, her once white wings with their one remaining white feather, quake with the grandest of finalities. Beau tightens her grip. The smell of wet ground begins to fill the air. Yasha exhales.</p><p> </p><p>Yasha flies.</p>
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